The hypocrite
by EmmanuelleG
Summary: Cold, cold lips, and an unmistakable hint of blood. The Ragnarök tastes sweet, he told her. Three-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**The hypocrite**

The first time she sees him, he is in this grand, glass prison. He moves around as though it is his; and truly an untrained eye would have gladly called him its master. She sits there and his fingers dance near the edge, never quite coming in contact with that almost-mirror which sends back her horrified expression.

Then, they whisper against the edge and she knows that the cage is supposed to drop down, that he is to disappear with it, but he does not.

He continues to exist, the world goes on, and another hour passes by. He smiles, and she stares back.

Jane doesn't press the alarm button.

Neither does she scream, or ask.

It's futile.

"Magic ?" she mouths.

"Only for you," he answers.

And he is mocking her.

* * *

He tells her that he meant to visit her.

She asks why. He doesn't specify.

His curiosity has been quelled. He reverts to a quiet a manipulator, and ceases being the rude oracle to her.

Loki always knows what she has done the day before. He doesn't always tell her, but when he does her blood freezes.

For now, he's calm. It is not good, but she prefers it.

* * *

The overpowering joy of Thor's arrival on Earth -or Midgard, Jane concedes for it to be a second name – quickly vanishes. Hastily, it waves her goodbye before she has the opportunity to open her embrace to it. No occasion to savour it, no chance to taste its unique flavour. Would his kiss have been tender and long, or hectic and swift in its urgency to end so the man could attend to matters more important? She can't help but wonder, and that very wonder tears at the now-present rips of old scars. Maybe not that old, maybe even quite recent. Fact is, she had the time to heal and get back on her feet – no more.

He left to fight with The Avengers, told her he would have to go back to Asgard afterwards. She knows his actions and words are noble, but still resents him.

Why can't you stay, she wants to ask him. Why can't you stay for me ? Because his life is elsewhere; he has no place here. He is fond of her, perhaps even as infatuated as she, but he is a stranger on this ground.

She still wants to brand him a coward, but bits her tongue. She is being childish and petulant as he is defending her home. Grow up, she has to grow up. Suddenly it's difficult.

* * *

When she pulls a chair to ease down on before the cage, he does the same. Loki, she wishes to speak his name, _Loki._ For it sounds so foreign in her mind and she wants to try it aloud now; showcase her dominance in the immediate context.

Instead he says hers, "Jane Foster."

She doesn't want to look at him.

"He is back then."

"Yes. You will be gone soon," she says, and smiles. A tiny grin which slightly bares her teeth to him.

"Excited," he grins in return. "I understand."

"Oh, yes."

She has a security pass, and therefore access to this part of the headquarters. Fury doesn't object even though his glares are disapproving. _He_ talks to her, and they want to get out as much information out of him as possible. Scientific facts, working theories about magic, his plans as to how he wanted to take over – pretty much anything that is inside his head.

At Natasha Romanoff, he barks. At Jane Foster, he laughs. And when he laughs, he does so for a longer period.

S.H.I.E.L.D knows its basic arithmetic.

She is ordered to return.

* * *

The fourth time, he greets her. Only now, he is spitting elegant insults while hiding behind an impressive, opaque mask of indifference.

She knows he can't be apathetic; at least, not entirely. His brother is concerned, and therefore he is ablaze with pleasure. A deplorable incident of the Thunderer is his delight – the healing balm he rubs into his wounds. And so many of those he has.

"He loves you," he murmurs.

She hears him, but shakes her head. "What did you say ?"

"Come closer," Loki orders. "Come closer, Jane Foster."

She doesn't know why she obeys. Actually, she does. He is talking of Thor and of Love. Overpowering, encompassing Love. The two meeting in a same sentence – no matter how silver the tongue that uttered it is – creates a warmth she cannot ignore and craves. And so she nears the glass.

He leans forward, she does too. Her forehead doesn't meet his for he is far too tall for that; Jane opts to lock eyes with his armour. He is still wearing it as though he is some great knight, and is to always be prepared for battle. Perhaps he simply doesn't want to take it off, perhaps he doesn't have the magic too and fears departing with it. It would be seized, and he'd be left defenceless.

She doesn't really care, she simply needs something to distract herself from his harsh breathing. It is magnified by the dozen of microphones scattered around the room.

"How do you know ?" Jane asks him. "How can you be sure ?"

"He loves you, but he will leave you," Loki chooses to tell her instead. "Oh yes, he is precisely how he appeared in your dreams: gentle and selfless, but ultimately so altruistic he'll sacrifice his happiness so the realm of Asgard may bask in it." He sees that she's closed her eyes, and adds more forcefully, "And yours as well."

It's too much. _It hurts too much_.

She knows him to be the trickster and the God of Lies, and that what he says is meant only to hurt – but somehow she can hear a distant ring in his affirmations, a far-away echo of truth.

It scares and pains her more than Thor's hurried leave.

She storms out, but makes sure she is silent.

* * *

He knows. He knows everything.

It doesn't surprise her, but she is scared still. So terrified she begins to tremble as he recounts to her her own experiences.

"Cried and cried and cried," he chants, staring at her. "In your pillow, trying to muffle the sobs and refusing to talk to anyone about those dark circles under your eyes the morning after."

"A clever deduction," she retaliates, her voice hoarse, "based on observations. A child can do the same."

"You wanted to call your mother as well," he murmurs. "A pity, you thought an instant after, that she is dead. Accident ? Am I correct ? Yes I am. Drowning. Unpleasant way to go."

"Shut up," Jane finds herself saying. "Shut up, shut up now."

"She thought she could breathe, but really water had already claimed her lungs as its domain. Nothing left to do – only gasp, and gasp, and gasp, and gasp..."

She has never left him so abruptly. The chair falls to the ground, and she staggers backwards, tears making her vision blurry as she struggles to regain some semblance of composure.

"And gasp, and gasp, Jane," he continues the lilt as she runs away.

* * *

Loki.

_Loki. _

She hasn't tried his name yet.

It's been two months.

* * *

S.H.I.E.L.D is pleased with her. Apparently, the information concerning his manipulation of the tesseract has come in handy. A special group of engineers and researchers are now working on a Earth-bound replica of the cursed cube. She keeps her lips pursed, detesting the idea. Why desire a thing that can destroy everything there is ? The answer is simple, really, but it doesn't make it acceptable.

That day, she is quiet. So is Loki.

When she at last opens her mouth, he interrupts her.

"The Ragnarök," he says, pensive, "is mine to cause."

"Ragnarök ?" Jane repeats, frowning. She is rusty on her Norse mythology and the word he so reverently drew out does not seem to be technical jargon.

"The end of the world, foretold and feared."

She knows what he is speaking of. "You think that what they're doing can become that dangerous ?"

He shrugs. "No, but you are still landing a hand in digging the common grave. It's time to get a better shovel, Jane Foster. After soft earth comes rock."

* * *

She doesn't understand him. He is centuries old and has seen generations dying and their offspring make of wild reveries physical and authentic devices which no longer surprise. Why he isn't bothered with her yet, is beyond Jane. She doesn't question it too, because, truly, would it make a difference ? She still would be forced to come.

They do not speak of Thor. Not anymore. His well of reprimands is empty, there is nothing left for him to throw at her that would burn. And she has grown a thicker skin of her own.

Maybe not thick. Maybe that is not the right way to put it. Maybe she just looks at her feet now, whenever with him, to avoid hurt – and that makes her seem strong. So unyielding, she appears.

One day he tells her, leaning towards the glass as though she is his confidante, "Tomorrow." By his lips it is a simple word turned strange.

"What ?" Jane presses him for an explanation.

Coming close has became a habit. He always lowers his voice, and she cannot hear him. She rationalizes the proximity as necessary. She tells S.H.I.E.L.D that; for herself, she comes up with far more complex justifications at night.

It makes it easier to live with herself. Everything is already black and difficult, she doesn't wish to become the girl who sympathizes with the enemy.

His hand passes through the glass. No alarm, and no disturbances – and it cuts through the compact surface like a knife through butter.

She gasps. The action becomes a thought and that thought a word she can clearly see.

Gasp.

_And gasp, and gasp, and gasp-_

It's a challenge to breathe, and she prays with her heart to slow just a little bit down.

Loki hasn't left the cage, his hand alone wonders through the air they now share. As he inhales, she mimics him – they're equals now. Her ground is his to walk upon, and his breath is hers to taste.

He grips her by the neck and she yelps, an unborn and blind – and so cruelly unwanted – kitten whose head is forced in a bucket of water. The glass does not register on her skin, Jane doesn't feel it. She is however bitten by cold. It gnaws at everything she is, but it doesn't come from the cell. It is he who is cold. Loki.

"You will be miserable," he says, and he is forced to look down at her to meet her eyes.

"Tomorrow ?" Jane stutters.

"No," he shakes his head, "not tomorrow. Tomorrow is my day."

She doesn't know why he does it.

Loki kisses her.

Cold, cold lips, and an unmistakable hint of blood. He doesn't let go of her, and when she beats her hands against his chest, he reciprocates by crashing her head against something hard.

Oh, the glass is back.

He presses his forehead to hers, tugs at her hair so she doesn't go running. She trembles, but he digs his long, thin fingers into her shoulders and she stops.

There is blood on her lips; on her hair as well.

* * *

No one knows what occurred.

Also, it is _tomorrow_.

She tries not to go, but she is paranoid. One action defying the course of the ordinary, and she will be suspected, put on trial. S.H.I.E.L.D knows everything.

He asks her how she is, if she is quite well. He doesn't enquire as to how her head is. Jane keeps massaging the sore, not healed, spot with her fingers.

"Come here," she hears him say.

Not again; she can't. "No."

"So be it," he concedes.

The glass is there, but he walks through it. She runs to the door only because it is the human thing to do, the brave decision. It has been sealed by him, this Jane comprehends, but to sit in that chair and accept the only outcome is cowardice. She doesn't want to be a coward.

He is not gentle as he seizes her, but then everything is black and she doesn't even know where they are anymore.

* * *

The second time is as rough. She wonders if he is capable of being tender at all. Her lips bleed a little, and he has presented her with a necklace of bruises.

Her name is on the television, and accomplice to the terrorist her official title. Why isn't Thor here by now ? Surely he must know she is no traitor.

She is in a house which outside she refuses to see. The world reeks of destruction and pain – because of him, because of Loki. Somehow, remaining in her large bedroom and denying reality is easier.

He drags her outside that day, gripping only a little of her hair. It's an improvement, it doesn't hurt as much as when he decides to grip handfuls of it. They are standing on top of some building and people are looking up. His voice is contained and quiet, but they hear everything.

Someone tries to fire at him and the bullet does an odd little dance, then finds home in the chest of the man who first sent it. Jane cries out as scarlet spills on the pavement; next to her, Loki is smiling.

This is Germany. He has returned to where he has first been captured.

It is now kneeling at his feet.

How ironic.

* * *

"He has gone to Asgard," Loki informs her of Thor's fate one day.

"You're lying," she murmurs back.

"I am not. Odin is ill, and his throne is to be protected. For now, Midgard can burn – it is not important."

* * *

New York does burn.

He waits until the prototype is complete and blows it up. The power surge wipes away families that have not yet been evacuated. Bodies of children, arms and legs missing, are shown on the big screens.

Countries seek peace with him, alliances are broken. Everyone wants to protect their skin alone.

When she learns of it, Jane cries. She knows that he sees her, but says nothing.

* * *

Loki doesn't need her. She is a nuisance, a most unpleasant burden.

Thor has pledged his love to her. But he is gone to Asgard without a word of goodbye.

His brother kept her.

She is well aware of the fact that she could not be safer, given the circumstances. He shouts and his temper is raw, but he doesn't hurt her.

Thor left her to wander the streets of war on her own.

She doesn't know what to make of it.

* * *

When he kisses her again, she doesn't resist.

She had been pleading with him for the lives of men aboard a military craft. At first, he waved her off; then, grew mad. His verbal frustrations bordered on physical as he immobilized her and yelled.

His promises of ending her never ceased to petrify.

But then he said something. "There is always one. Every once in a while, you have to let someone go."

"Please," she told him.

"Or else the game of chess ends too quickly," Loki finished.

She couldn't ask for more. Not with him.

He kisses her hungrily, and his teeth clack against hers. She grimaces but doesn't attempt to stop him. His breath is everywhere; in her mouth, in her lungs, within her. His cold is as well. Jane tries to get some air of her own, but he doesn't let her, lips coming back to hide hers from the world.

"Loki," she manages when his hands are at her waist and going down, "_Loki_."

His name.

She doesn't feel different saying it. It doesn't make him more human.

"The Ragnarök," he whispers against her cheek, holding her still against the wall, "tastes sweet."

For her, the taste is not unpleasant.

In the distance, there are screams. Loki laughs as he repeats that gesture from a lifetime ago – pressing his forehead to hers. He chuckles again and there's an explosion.

"You lied." Jane shivers. Her mind seems to refuse to understand what just happened.

"Yes."

But he is all there is left for her. There's no going back.

She grips at his shoulders for support, and he doesn't let go.


	2. Chapter 2

You guys convinced me to do a three-shot out of this. This installment and the next, however, will be much shorter. One more chapter to go, and it's definitely finished :)

* * *

She lets him kiss her now.

Whenever he decides to trap her, she goes along with the game. It is a much needed distraction; one in which she rejoices.

He is looking at her, and then he is holding – too firmly for comfort – her face between his hands. She inhales his smell, his cold. It overwhelms, but she welcomes it.

Instead of thinking about the destruction he's caused, Jane muses over the fact how human he tastes. He doesn't feel human, nothing that he is falls into a righteous category – but his aroma is human. It's a puzzle, an amusing contradiction, and her mind gladly accepts the dilemma. It needs nourishment too.

He pulls away, but he is looking at her. Not departing or plunging back in.

"You figured one god is as good as another ?" he whispers against her lips.

She slaps him.

It's the first time she lays a hand on him in anger.

He slaps her back.

She feels blood mingling in her mouth. Her teeth closed on the inside of her cheek as he had struck her.

But it doesn't hurt, not really. Perhaps she is just too numb from her world collapsing at her feet. For it really is. Loki has elevated himself to a status no one yet possessed, and brought her with him. She is a traitor, but treated like a queen.

Or maybe the blow wasn't a blow.

Merely a sharp caress.

* * *

The clock is ticking, Jane realizes.

The clock is ticking and he is walking in the corridor.

She wants to ask where he is heading to, but fears the answer might eat away at her sanity. Yesterday, she walked outside her – their, but she adamantly refuses to call it thus – house and saw him standing over a recently deceased man. As she had knelt besides him, some of the body's warmth rubbed onto her.

She had spent the evening torturing her skin with burning water until it became raw. He later walked on on her and, seizing her by the forearms, locked her in her room.

Maybe he's getting ready to go talk to some president, or maybe he's off to cut some rebel's tongue.

"Wait for me," he tells her as he pushes the door to her room.

She doesn't need to answer – he knows she will.

Jane hates herself for desiring comfort, and not dreaming of the guillotine. But she should; she should hand herself over to the remaining authorities and be executed.

She prefers Loki's cool lips to the hard floor of prison.

* * *

It's not a castle, it's more of a mansion.

She tries to get lost once. Curiosity wells up. Will he come searching for her ?

He does and she collapses on the floor, laughing and crying all at once.

He's the only one looking for her.

* * *

One day, she asks him how it is _outside_.

It has been so long since she'd wandered off in the streets. The bubble of deceitful peace – dare she say happiness – he has conjured for her benefit is suffocating, but she is reluctant to abandon it.

No. Happiness doesn't feel right – it doesn't ring as truth.

Contentment is a better fit. She is content with remaining ignorant. This way she cannot really blame herself for all the spilled blood.

Jane knows it to be a lie, but for now she is not strong enough to allow it to escape.

"I'll show you," he tells her instead, and that evening she is by him in the middle of some city.

People are gathered around, and stare at them with no restraint.

Some of them are dressed in uniforms she does not recognize. They restrain those with guns and other, less modern, weapons. Let it be a knife, but it is drawn in the air and pointed at Loki.

One actually flies towards her and she yelps, but he catches it.

"Don't," she whispers to him, but Loki throws it back into the crowd anyway.

* * *

Jane welcomes reality without any means of defense.

It comes crashing, biting at her skin, and tearing at whatever stability they created. It's a snake whose poison, while admittedly lethal, proves to be a cure to an existing condition.

But she doesn't get better.

She clenches at hope with all her might, and even prays.

Jane Foster is not a religious woman, but at night she murmurs hushed entreaties to God. Not the one she is now sharing a life with, but _God_. The one her grand-mother used to tell her about.

She talks to him, but doesn't really know if she wants him to hear.

A few days prior, she overheard men talking about _that_ team reassembling. All of its members are part of the deal.

"Don't even think of it," he snarls at her when she brings the gossip up. "This world is mine. And every sigh is heard, and every threat is punished."

"It is," she acknowledges.

"Even if it is not a rumor, he is not back for you."

* * *

He's not.

He hasn't even sought audience with her.

But he is back, and that makes her think of him.

* * *

Her world doesn't change, and neither do Loki's lips.

He decides to kiss her in public, and she doesn't really mind because there is no opinion out there that can hurt her now.

He, Loki, is holding her so forcefully her bones might shatter. In the distance she hears a wail, a cry filled with horrific pain, but doesn't pull away to ask him to cease whatever is happening.

Maybe she's as horrible as him now.

"He is going back to Asgard. This time he shan't return," he whispers in her ear. "Joyful, is it not ?"

His name is fire to him. He cannot utter it.

"Celebrate if you wish," she tells him.

It's the first time she walks away from him in such a manner, but when he kisses her again in the night she doesn't resist.

And as he climbs in bed with her, Jane does not panic.

Or maybe she does. But not enough to start another slapping contest.

It is odd and it is frightening, but it also reality. And right now she needs it more than anything for it is her anchor. She needs to remain on good terms with sanity, and so her perception must be clear. Not flawed in any way.

Loki is blunt, and he hurts with words more than with actions, but he is also everything there is true about her present world.

He's her reality.


	3. Chapter 3

"Am I your twisted shrine to _normality_ ?"

She hits him in the chest, and he catches her wrist.

Jane continues spitting in his face. "You are sick, _so sick_ ! Is there some sort of flavour on me that reminds you of your brother ? No, not even of your brother. Of your family. Of what you lost. Because he loved me-" He grimaces and she shouts the word 'love' until her throat is raw. "Yes he loved me. And because of that you keep me. You're not stone, you have emotions, and you may be a god but it does not exempt your from humanity. You feel. You need me because I'm what's left of your feelings. Despite everything, you don't want to just be a worshipped figure – you desire to be a _wanted_ one. If only by one single person. Your family wanted you. Once upon a long, long time ago. Get this nonsense out of your head, you can't recapture them in me."

She thinks she might try and hurt him yet again. Not that it would do any good, only shatter her remaining countenance. And she needs it to continue. The world is pulling itself together, shamefully accepting a new reign, its head bowed before its defeat. She needs that world – her world – but it is ready to kick her out. It's really ironic and even more sad. Jane has heard her name being muttered and cursed, she's witnessed men and women calling her things so vile it brought tears to her eyes.

After months of fighting, the Avengers welcomed reality. There was no victory waiting for them. There never would have been. One of them had been killed upon surrender. Some say it was in fact suicide. Still, candles have been lit before the portrait of Steve Rogers and then blew out, destroyed, annihilated, by some of Loki's men.

Loki. She looks at his pale face, bloodless almost, as he stares at her. The look he is giving her is such that she has no words to describe it. It's rage and adoration at once, murderous desperation and odd affection. She feels that it he were to reach out and choke the life out of her at this instant, he would do so with certain reverence. Gentleness, perhaps.

Instead all he tells her is: "You have a sharp tongue for someone so defenceless."

She doesn't know how to react to that, to his composed reaction. Jane swallows, rubs her eyes, brushes her hair with trembling fingers. "You're not going to kill me for this ?"

"I'm never going to kill you."

It's a promise. One that isn't comforting. It should be, she knows that it should, but its threatening edge is too grand to be ignored.

"You did it," she says in a hoarse voice, "you won. Thor tried to stop you for a second time and he failed. He is going back now." _Again_. "The Bifrost will perhaps never be rebuilt. Maybe it was the last time you saw him."

"It doesn't matter, Jane Foster."

It's the first time he spoke her full name since those days back at S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters. It sends a cold shiver down her spine. This all reeks of the past – a past where Earth was still free, and he in a glass cell.

He takes a step forward and she backs away. Their usual, little dance resumes. Not for long. His hands are around her waist, cold, naked of gloves, as they dig in her sides.

"You are no shrine," he says calmly and all of a sudden breathing is very difficult because everything is just too surreal, "you don't deserve to be." Jane claws at his hands but he doesn't let go. "At the same time, no one does."

This quietens the storm within her. She lets him hold her like that, in a sort of embrace but not quite. Not gentle but not violent.

"Have an apple," Loki says.

It's there, sitting on the table, shinning bright. Jane struggles out of his grasp and walks past him. He remains frozen, eyes still at the wall she'd been trapped against a minute early. As she picks it up, she realizes how insubstantial and weightless it is.

"Take a bite," he insists.

And he doesn't go away until she does. It tastes amazing, unlike anything she's ever had. When she tells him of it, he laughs.

* * *

She tries to go outside, she tries talking with people. She even starts wearing her hair in a bun to look more different. Every so often, someone does not recognize her as Loki's companion and she gets to share a pleasant, light conversation with that generous soul. It always fills her with warmth.

That day, when she comes back home, he's there. She walks behind him, touches him on the shoulder and he shrugs her touch off.

"We're not going anywhere, right ?"

It's a question she's meant to ask for a long time now. Not 'are you going to let me go' or something of the sort. Because even if he did tell her that she was free to storm out, she wouldn't do it. This routine is familiar, lovely to some disgusting extent, and so is he. No. She is anchored to him.

If she really is his shrine, then he's hers.

"No, we're not," Loki confirms.

It's new. He's never done it before. This gesture is only days old. He leans down, kisses her forehead and walks away.

"Never ?" she calls after him. Jane needs to know what to anticipate from life. It's what all scientists do.

"Read your Norse mythology, Jane Foster, read about apples."

That night she does. She learns of Iðunn's golden apples. It sends her into a haze of panic and confusion and she tries to induce vomiting by bending over the toilet but it's too late. Loki finds her in that state. He's silent as he helps her up, guides her to what has long since become their shared bedroom. Technically it's hers, but he's been invited over so many times that he's its rightful owner as well.

"He's not coming back," he says as he brushes her hair away from her face. "Get a grip on yourself."

"I know," she stutters, "but you're staying. Forever."

"Yes."

**THE END**

* * *

It's over. I told you it would be short. Thanks for the ride, everyone :). I'm very horrible at answering reviews, as in I never do it, but you have to know that I am grateful for each and every word you left me. I truly am. Thanks again, I love all of you.


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